Awakening
by madiamazing
Summary: Musical/Leroux AU set after the events of ll Muto: Christine's unplanned and unexpected deflowering leads to a whole new world of possibilities, and she will explore every single opportunity she gets. Multi-chapter smutfic. Christine/Everyone.
1. Chapter 1

**I...have no explanation, really. This just kinda happened, and I hope someone enjoys it enough to encourage me to continue it.**

 **Reviews are welcome and encouraged. ;)**

 **Summary:** **Musical/Leroux AU set after the events of ll Muto: Christine's unplanned and unexpected deflowering leads to a whole new world of possibilities, and she will explore every single opportunity she gets. Multi-chapter smutfic. Christine/Everyone.**

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 _ **~Awakening~**_

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Chapter 1- The Lesson

The house in itself was extraordinary, if it could even be called simply a _house_. It was three stories tall, with many long windows, their framing gold. Dark green vines snaked up one side of the building, giving it a sort of ominous look around the ivory base color that had faded with time. Each back corner had large turrets that pointed sharp at the top, making the house seem more like a castle, and the sloping roof was painted blue. Though surrounded by steep, sloping hills and large trees deadened by winter, the massive home still somehow managed to look inviting and warm.

The de Chagny estate awaited, and the closer they got the calmer Christine felt. True to Raoul's pleading word, it _was_ nice to get away from the craziness of the opera house. She had been hesitant to go away, even just for a weekend. The opera house was home to her, and despite all of the frightening and confusing events that had taken place, she had been reluctant to leave it.

But Raoul had been persistent, as she had known he would be. He had begged and begged for her to come stay at his family's home for a weekend, and since his eyes only held adoration and innocent hope, she had finally agreed.

And now they were here.

Raoul's eagerness was obvious, having nearly bounced out of his seat next to her before they even reached the drive way. It was endearing, and she had smiled widely at him the rest of the way, her worries fading. He helped her out of the cab and into the cold, cloudy afternoon, offering his arm cheerfully.

"It is not nearly big enough, dear Vicomte," Christine joked as they walked up the steps to the huge wooden door, her nose crinkling with her grin.

He laughed, his light, blue-grey eyes sparkling as he looked down at her. "Wait until you see the inside. You will be truly outraged at the mediocrity."

The inside was even grander, all dim lighting and marble floors and wood paneled walls, with crystal chandeliers and the finest, deep colored furnishings. And huge, of course. Oh, so huge. The luxury of it all was like nothing she had ever seen, and she huffed out a startled breath.

Raoul took her hand and squeezed her fingers. "May I show you around, Lotte?"

Christine nodded, staring wide-eyed at her surroundings.

The house tour took even longer than she had anticipated, and she was relieved when Raoul finally stopped in front of the door that was to be her room during her stay. "Philippe's room is right next to this one," Raoul reminded her as they stepped into the luxurious bedroom. "And mine is just down the hall."

"I am not likely to forget what you told me just two minutes ago," she teased him, smiling.

He laughed once breathlessly, and then his boyishly handsome features grew serious. "I know. I…I only want you to know that you are safe here, no matter what, Christine."

The lighthearted, carefree mood between them shifted to one of awkward tenseness, but Christine still managed to smile politely at him. "Well, thank you, Raoul. I do feel…safe."

And she did, in a way. Of course, she knew that if… _he_ did somehow find her here, he would not have any problems taking her if he tried. The Phantom was much too clever. But he had disappeared weeks ago, and she had no suspicion that he was planning anything, no sense of foreboding. Probably still too angry with her to even attempt to…

Raoul's warm hands softly grasped her shoulders, breaking her from those thoughts. "I am so happy you are here," he said quietly, placing a kiss to her forehead, the mood shifting yet again. His lips were soft, warm, and she leaned up with eagerness to meet them with her own.

They kissed only briefly, though it was enough to make Christine light headed. All too soon, Raoul pulled away, clearing his throat. "I will give you some time to rest before supper." He began to reluctantly leave, but turned back to her before he was out the door. "Oh, and Philippe and his…lady friend will be joining us tonight. I hope that is all right. You should know her, she is the lead ballerina at the opera."

"La Sorelli? Yes, I know her. That is fine." Indeed, Christine was familiar with the beautiful Italian dancer. She had always been envious of her grace, of her long, smooth limbs that were a golden tan color, and her ability to enchant people with her dancing. She had not known that Raoul's brother, the Comte, had been seeing her. "Are they…courting?" she added skeptically.

Raoul's sudden red face answered her question. "Ah, no…they are just…friendly. Uh…a servant will be here to help you dress for supper within the next hour or so." And with that, Raoul strode away, leaving Christine shocked and quietly giggling in her temporary bedroom.

The room was bright and warm, with patterned cream walls and thick, golden bedding on the huge bed. In one corner stood a charming white vanity and matching chair, reminding her of the one in her dressing room at the opera house. She spent her time alone sitting at the mirror, finger combing her dark curls, and then trying to style them for dinner. She would have done something creative, but she only ended up pinning it half up like she always did, with a couple curly tendrils kept out to frame her face.

Growing bored, she stared at herself, slowly licking her pink lips and parting them, lifting her chin and angling her face this way and that, squinting her blue eyes. Posing sensually into the mirror was something she had done frequently lately, though she always felt silly afterward. She was a twenty-year-old woman, but she could not seem to escape from the innocent little girl everyone else saw. Her round, dimpled cheeks and small, girlish frame saw to that. Raoul could not even stand to kiss her passionately without fearing he would soil her, or something…

Well, that is what it seemed like, at least.

Groaning quietly in embarrassment, she gave up and turned away from the mirror, knowing that no matter how hard she tried she would still be the same Christine, and would look extremely insignificant at dinner with Sorelli there.

She did feel a little better when the servant came and helped her dress into an evening gown that Raoul had gifted her. The neckline was just low enough to still be tasteful, had lacy cream trim and was a deep burgundy, embroidered with golden roses. The deep fabric contrasted with her pale skin quite nicely, nearly making it glow in the bedroom's light. The sleeves were short and just off her shoulders, leaving her arms bare. Perhaps she would not look so insignificant next to Sorelli after all…

Christine scoffed quietly to herself. Of course she would.

Dinner with Raoul, his brother, and Sorelli was fancy and delicious, with wine and chatter and laughs. Surprisingly, Philippe did not seem arrogant or condescending like Christine had expected from what his looks suggested. Though he was basically an older, taller version of Raoul, his face was more angular and intimidating, his eyes a darker grey and his hair a longer, darker blonde. He was also very handsome, but in a harder, manlier way. Despite that, he was quite charming and witty, and chivalrous with the stunning Sorelli.

The dancer was demure, sensual without even trying, and dressed in a lovely emerald green gown, no doubt a gift from the Comte. Her smooth, tan skin and black hair and golden brown eyes…Christine's mouth went dry just looking at her perfection.

 _Insignificant indeed._

"Well, brother," Philippe eventually said, standing. "Miss Sorelli and I are going to the library for a nightcap. Would you two lovebirds like to join us?" He glanced Christine's way, winking at her subtly, and she not so subtly looked away with a blush.

"I was actually hoping to take Christine on an evening stroll," Raoul said hopefully, turning to her. "That is, if it is all right with you?"

"Sure," she murmured, besotted by Raoul's shining eyes. "That sounds nice."

Though the night air was wintry, the stroll was nice with her heavy cape and Raoul's warmth next to her. With arms linked, they reminisced of their days by the sea when they were younger happily, and Christine felt strangely light and carefree. Perhaps the wine at dinner had helped with that, but she had not felt so relaxed since…well, since before she had removed _his_ mask.

When Raoul escorted her back inside and up the stairs, they paused at his bedroom door. "Well," he said, running a hand through his tousled hair, looking her up and down, and then their eyes locked. Her breath hitched at the glint that she had never quite seen in him before, but had definitely seen in the eyes of…another man. The next thing she knew, Raoul's mouth was on hers, warm and moist.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to better meet his full, pillow-soft lips, sighing heavily against him. His hands were on her hair, holding her to him gently, and with parting lips she unconsciously sought out his tongue with hers. Raoul inhaled sharply and pulled away, the look on his face giving her a strange ache in her belly.

"Raoul," she gasped, feeling her heart racing in her chest. "I…I am sorry. That was…inappropriate of me."

Before she could even finish her sentence his head was shaking fast, smiling at her reassuringly. "Oh, no, Christine. Never be sorry for…that." He laughed once, breathlessly. "But I…I think maybe we should…"

Christine nodded, trying not to be disappointed. "Right. I will see you in the morning." She turned to go, but he grabbed her hand.

"Let me…I mean, I will walk you to your door."

She agreed, and he saw to it that she made the short walk safely. He kissed her briefly once more and bade her goodnight with reluctance, and then she was left alone in her room. The fire burning strong in the fireplace was her only source of light, casting the space in a warm, sultry glow.

Fully clothed, she collapsed on the bed with a huff, her mind spinning, trying to figure everything out.

One thing she knew for certain was that ever since that night with… _him_ , the Phantom—once her angel—she had felt something change within her. His voice, his feather light touches, hesitant embraces… Something that she could not quite explain had awakened and begun to grow since that night, and now it was just willing to be released, whatever it was. How she wished she knew what these strange feelings were. Toward _him,_ toward Raoul, toward…nearly every handsome man or pretty woman she came in contact with!

Her cheeks heated with shame.

Huffing, Christine rose and stripped down to her undergarments, and then removed the pins from her hair. She slipped into the bathroom and washed quickly, and donned a thin, white nightgown. She sat at the vanity, and had just begun the tedious task of brushing through her dark curls when she heard a noise.

Freezing, she listened, and it sounded like a female crying in the next room. Sorelli?

Concerned and curious, Christine ventured into the dark hallway, and found Philippe's door partially open, just enough for her to see inside. She could not resist looking, and what she saw caused her eyes to widen, her mouth to gape, and her body to freeze in place.

 _Oh…_ Sorelli was not crying. Christine had been wildly mistaken.

Sorelli was lying on her side on the grand bed in the center of the room, not wearing a single stitch, and Philippe was close behind her, moving. It took a minute for Christine to figure out exactly what they were doing, and by then, she could not look away. Philippe was peppering Sorelli's neck and cheek with slow kisses, one of his hands cupping her bare breast, teasing the dark peak there. She moaned in appreciation, her dark eyes never opening, savoring her pleasure.

 _That_ was what Christine had heard. She inhaled a gust of air, feeling her chest tighten like it sometimes did when it was cold. But she was not cold, not at all.

Philippe must have heard her, because he suddenly lifted his face, met her stare and froze, his eyes much darker than they had been at dinner, blinking at her in shock. But then, after a moment of thought, he continued his movement, his gaze never leaving Christine's, locking her there. She could do nothing but gape and watch as his hand drifted down Sorelli's smooth torso and hip; lower still to the dark patch of hair between her legs. He fondled her there, watching Christine with an open mouth as if _she_ were the one he was touching.

Still, Christine could not move, could not look away, her skin on fire as he stared, and as Sorelli cried out intensely. And then, Philippe groaned and shuddered, his eyes finally closing, breaking Christine from her trance.

 _Oh God._ She dashed back into her room, shutting the door behind her hastily, gasping. She leaned back against the door, bringing a hand to her feverish forehead, replaying the images of what she had just watched over and over. Then, her thoughts shifted, and she imagined _she_ was the one naked with Philippe, and _she_ was the one crying out in pleasure. _Oh._

Releasing a shaky breath, her thighs clenched together, and she caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Even in the sparse light, she could still see how her face and neck were flushed, how her chest heaved with her breathing. "Oh, God," she whispered to her reflection. "What is wrong with you, Christine?"

She glanced down at her chest, finding her hardened nipples straining against the thin fabric. Heart pounding, hands shaking, she grasped at them, imitating the way Philippe had held Sorelli's, and massaged with hesitance. The feeling was…exquisite. Licking her lips, one hand crept lower, down her stomach and beyond, and she slowly rubbed herself over her nightgown. A hushed moan escaped her throat, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Feeling rather than hearing the quiet knock against the door at her back, she jumped, nearly squeaking in surprise. It took a moment to restart her heart, and she took a shuddering breath and smoothed her nightgown back into place before turning and opening the door.

She did not know who she had expected to find, but was startled either way. There stood Philippe, smiling and wearing only his trousers, and Christine could only gape.

"Evening, Christine," he said warmly. "May I come in for a moment?"

"Oh, I…" her voice was hoarse, and she quietly cleared her throat. "I do not think that would be-"

He raised a hand, stopping her. "Just to talk, I promise. Please?"

 _No. Say no, Christine._ Swallowing, Christine nodded slowly, moving out of the doorway to let Philippe through. He grinned at her handsomely, and strode into her bedroom with confidence. This was a bad idea, she knew, yet she only breathed deeply as she shut the door, and then turned sheepishly to face him, keeping her arms firmly across her chest. He sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at her with a humorous glint in his eyes.

"You enjoy what you saw, I trust?" he teased, looking her up and down.

She almost wanted to cry. "I am…so, so terribly sorry, Monsieur le Comte," she groaned in humiliation, putting her red face in her hands. "I did not mean to…I thought I-I heard crying, and then when I looked I s-saw-"

His light laughter interrupted her, and her head snapped back up. "Please, Christine, call me Philippe. And do not apologize. It is all right. Nothing wrong with a girl's curiosity." He chuckled some more, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Ahem…where is Sorelli?"

"Deeply asleep. I am afraid I wore her out." His devilish grin sent shivers up Christine's spine. "Though, I am sure you know how it is." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably where she stood.

"I do not," she said so quietly that it was nearly a whisper.

Philippe tilted his head, his brows rising. She watched as he stood, and slowly walked up to her, pausing when he was just inches away. His muscular build glowed golden in the firelight, and her mouth went dry. "Christine Daaé," his low voice was vaguely taunting. "Are you a _virgin_?"

Her flush said it all, and his brows rose higher. "Of c-course I am. Is…that wrong?"

"Oh, not at all. Only, I saw the look on your face just minutes ago, and I know you do not want to be much longer."

Warm fingers came up to stroke her cheek, and Christine's eyes widened. "I…"

Philippe stepped closer still. So close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"If you are so willing, dear Christine," he was cupping her face with both hands now, tilting it up so she could better see him as he towered over her. She could not move. His dark grey eyes bore into hers, and then he leaned in, his firm lips just barely touching her forehead. "I would be honored to complete such a task as making you a woman." Thumbs gently stroked her cheeks, and his lips dragged to the right and brushed her temple. Her eyes slid shut. "I would be so tentative, so gentle." To the left, kissing her other temple. "I will make you feel…better than you could ever imagine." Dragging down, kissing the tip of her nose, and her arms fell limply at her sides. "You saw Sorelli's face, heard the sounds she was making. _I_ can make that happen for you, too, Christine." Lower, and his lips gently pressed down on hers.

Inhaling, her heart racing, Christine stumbled a step back, surprised at how much strength it took to do so. Philippe watched her, his hands still hovering in the air from when he held her face. "W-what about…Raoul?" she panted, ashamed that she had completely forgotten about him until just now.

He dropped his hands, his smile sly. "Raoul does not need to know. Don't you want to learn how to please him? I doubt he thinks you are a virgin, what with working at the opera house and all. We all know what goes on there."

Christine knew _that_ was untrue. Raoul did not doubt her purity. He could hardly kiss her for more than one fleeting moment for fear of getting carried away with her! Ignoring his comment, she narrowed her eyes at Philippe, her chin coming up in defense. "What if I'm not ready? What if I do not want to?"

"Then I will bid you goodnight, and we will forget this," he said easily. "But…we both know neither of those are true." Philippe licked his lips and winked at her, and then turned to leave.

Damn. He was right.

She raced to the door before he could touch the handle, pressing her back to it. He looked down at her with parted lips, and Christine hesitantly reached out to touch his naked chest, her hand shaking to the point of embarrassment. His skin was warm and smooth beneath her palm, and she gently scratched her nails down his tawny chest hair, not missing his intake of breath as she did.

"S-stay," Christine whispered. "Teach me?"

He nodded once. "With pleasure," he murmured, cupping her face like he had earlier, and bringing his mouth down to hers. His lips were firm yet gentle, insistent, unfamiliar, and Christine responded with as much enthusiasm as she would if it were Raoul. _This is wrong. This is so wrong._ And yet…she ran her trembling hands down his bare back, clutching him closer and parting her lips. Philippe touched her tongue with his slowly, and she tasted tobacco and whiskey and heat, moaning softly.

The kiss deepened, grew past the few kisses she had shared with Raoul all together. No, this swirling and massaging of tongues was nothing she had ever experienced, and she feared she would collapse with the way it made her knees buckle. She whimpered when Philippe pressed her back against the wall, snaking his fingers into her curls and kissing her harder. She could feel something hard and hot against her abdomen, and the realization of what it was sent both fear and excitement deep in her belly.

Philippe pulled back, and their mouths disconnected with a rather satisfying suction sound. "Hmm, it seems you need no teaching when it comes to kissing," he complimented, his low, deep voice making her head swim. "Kiss me here." He pointed to his neck, and Christine obeyed. His skin was smooth and salty, and she licked and kissed with fervor. It made her feel powerful, hearing Philippe's breath quicken, feeling his hands tightening their grip in her hair, and she was eager to find out what else she could do to please him.

"Good," he rasped. "Now, raise your arms." She looked up at him in confusion, and he explained patiently, "Men love to undress women, Christine."

 _Oh._ She swallowed, and slowly did as he said. He grasped her nightgown at her waist and pulled it up, and she gasped and covered her naked chest when she realized her chemise had been pulled of as well. Philippe smiled. "And they do not do it just so you can cover yourself with your arms." He waited, and Christine eventually dropped them, her cheeks heating as she was exposed to his dark, roaming gaze. "Women are taught to be proper and quiet and shy their whole lives, I know. But when it comes to _this,_ " he murmured, sweeping her hair behind her shoulders and leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Disregard all of that."

She quivered, nodding slowly, and Philippe bent down to kiss her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut, sighing, and she felt his hands brushing her hips. They snuck around her lower back, tugging the fastenings of her drawers and then guiding the garment off, and it slipped to the floor. She was completely naked now, and Philippe's warm, smooth fingers were trailing down her lower back, down lower over her behind, digging his fingers into the fleshy skin there.

With a soft groan, his lips brushed over her collarbone, venturing lower, and she brought her hands up to anchor against his broad shoulders, fearing for her balance all of a sudden. When his hot, wet mouth closed over her left breast, her eyes snapped open, her head tilting down to see. The sight was positively sinful and delicious, and she exhaled, gaping. Philippe sucked and released, and bit back the moan that wanted to escape her throat.

"Do you like this?" he asked quietly, and then swirled his tongue around the pink bud.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Always voice it, Christine." Philippe sucked harder, and she could not hold back the moan this time. He released it again. "Yes, just like that. We _love_ to hear you." After paying her other breast the same attention, he stood upright, taking a step back. "Now, undress me."

There was not much to undress, clad in only his trousers as he was. Still, Christine hesitantly obeyed, her hands still shaking as she undid the fastenings and hooked her thumbs underneath the fabric at his hips. She could feel her cheeks burning when they fell to the floor, leaving him as bare as she, and visibly aroused. Meeting his eyes, darkened by lust, something else began to burn. Something between her legs.

Intrigued, ever hesitant, she reached out to grasp him, fascinated at how the skin could be so hard yet velvety soft to the touch. She had no idea how to touch him, so she pleaded to him with her eyes for guidance. Philippe took her hand and squeezed it around his thickness, showing her how to properly hold him and stroke, back and forth. Once she got the hang of it, his head fell back and his eyes shut, groaning softly, and she could not hold back her triumphant grin.

When he opened his eyes and saw her smile, his eyes glinted wickedly. "Oh, you like giving me pleasure, do you?" She nodded, squeezing and stroking him more boldly. He gaped at her for a second, and then chuckled, shaking his head. "All right, then. Kneel."

"Kneel?" she repeated, confused.

"Yes. I am going to show you one of the best ways to please a man, Christine."

"Oh…all right." She sunk to the floor, and she could guess what he meant when her face was level with his arousal. "You want me to…kiss you here, don't you?" she guessed, and Philippe nodded in approval.

"You are a fast learner, aren't you? Yes, that is exactly what I want you to do. Sort of like how I kissed you _here._ " His fingers brushed her swollen nipple, and she nodded, wetting her lips.

Her mouth closed over him, and she swirled her tongue and sucked the way he had done to her breast. Philippe groaned deliciously, and he guided her with little choked tips, and Christine was surprised by how much she enjoyed it, how powerful it made her feel. Her eyes watered with the effort, but having her mouth full of his hot hardness and hearing his pleasure because of it was titillating. And then, he was already stopping her, and helping her back up to her feet.

Second-guessing herself, she fretted, wondering if she had done something wrong. "Was I…not good, Philippe?"

He snorted, shaking his head and taking her hands in his. "No, you were…a little too good, actually. I needed you to stop if you wanted to carry on with your lesson." He grinned, such a way that made her shiver in anticipation, as he pulled her to the bed. He softly ordered her to lie down, and then he pulled a handkerchief out of the bedside table drawer and set it aside before joining her. She was about to ask why he did so, but his body was already hovering over hers, his lips crashing down to claim hers in a searing kiss.

First her mouth, a quick, tangling dance of hot tongue. Then her neck, wet lips pressing and sucking. Trailing lower, to her tight breasts, that warm tongue, taking turns on each erect nipple, Christine shuddering in delight. Lower, kissing softly down her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel, thrilling her. Lower _still_ , down her hip and the flesh of her thigh, large hands spreading her legs apart.

She squeaked in surprise and embarrassment, her cheeks pink when she looked down and saw him looking at her most secret spot, right between her thighs. His dark eyes met hers for a moment, and he rounded his red lips and blew. She whimpered and squirmed, and he chuckled darkly. She tried to squeeze her legs shut, but that was obviously impossible with Philippe's head in between them and his hands still holding her in place.

"No, no," he protested gently. "Do not be embarrassed of _this_." He touched her then where she had never been touched before, caressing her intimately, and her head fell back with a heavy exhale, her eyes closing. "A real man will appreciate such beauty, Christine." His tongue lashed out, licking her just once _exactly_ where she ached the most.

She jerked and cried out, and he lapped at her again, the feeling so intoxicating that she prayed he would never stop. He did though, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, trying to push his head down without much luck. "Greedy girl," he growled playfully. "I do not hear a 'please'."

"Please, Philippe!" she mewled. "Oh, _please._ "

"Hmm, I suppose, since you beg so, so sweetly…" He granted her wish, licking her ever softly, slowly. Her back arched, her breath coming out stuttered and heavy. Fingers fondled, coating in her arousal, and she tensed when she felt one single digit slip inside of her. It was…a little uncomfortable, and she whimpered. When a second one joined the first, she hissed in pain, freezing.

Philippe seemed to notice, and paused. "Does this hurt?" he asked softly, moving his fingers inside of her. She flinched and nodded, staring squinty eyed at the ceiling.

"Relax, Christine," he murmured softly. "It will feel better soon, I promise." He set to devouring her again, and it was not too difficult to obey his request after a while. She focused on the pleasure, tried to ignore the pain, until the two seemed to meld together into something nearly overwhelming, true to his word. Tongue circling, lips sucking, fingers digging, and Christine moaned, squirmed, pulled on his hair, begged, melted. And then, she shattered, crying out so loudly that she might have woken the entire house.

Ah, who cared if she did? She would not be sorry. Not when she felt so utterly, completely wonderful.

Philippe crawled up next to her, his hair in disarray and his lips glistening. It was a rather seductive sight, and she stared at him with hazy eyes as her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. He held up his hand then, the one that had worked the fingers inside of her, and she gasped when she saw a thin coat of blood on said fingers. "Evidence of your virginity," he explained softly, wiping the redness with the handkerchief he had set aside. "It's normal, do not worry."

"Oh," she sighed in relief. "All…right."

After setting the now stained handkerchief aside, Philippe crawled atop her with that ever present, charming smirk, bending down to kiss her. It was hot, wet, and Christine moaned when Philippe gently bit down on her lower lip. "Are you ready?" he mumbled against her mouth, pressing his erection to her thigh to clarify his intent.

"Y-yes," she breathed, jerking her head up and down in an apprehensive nod as her hands came up around his neck, and he positioned himself between her legs. His stormy eyes stared down into hers as he reached down, grasping himself, ever slowly pressing himself to her entrance. Without breaking eye contact, he used his hardness to tease her, rubbing around her wetness in a slow, torturous way, causing her to squirm. Her sensitivity only heightened the sensations, and it was not long before she ached for release once again, Philippe's seductive, smoldering gaze only serving to burn her further.

And yet, she shivered.

When he finally, slowly— _God, so slowly—_ began to slip inside, she gaped, her fingers digging into his perspiring skin. She was being filled, stretched by his hot, throbbing hardness, and she watched his eyes flutter closed, heard the low groan he emitted. The feeling was new and uncomfortable at first, but Philippe had not lied when he told her he would be gentle. He slowly pulled out and back in, over and over, and it slowly began to feel…well, fantastic, really. The best was when he thrust deep inside, and she would voice her pleasure with moaning sighs.

"Does it…still hurt?" he grunted the question, and shook her head. "Good." He rolled them over, their positions reversed as she was on top of him now. His hands on her face, he pulled her head down to kiss her once. And then, his voice, low and seductive, "I want you to ride me."

He pushed her shoulders gently until she sat up, his hot, smooth hands slipping to her waist, guiding her to begin moving. She could tell her cheeks were bright red as she awkwardly lifted and lowered herself onto him, her lips parting with the exquisite feel of him deep inside. Philippe's strong, attractive body glistened underneath her, and she touched him, fingers trailing between his muscular dips in admiration.

When she moved more confidently, her rhythm set, he moved his hands to her breasts, grabbing and massaging and pinching. Her head tossed back, her eyes rolling into her head in ecstasy, crying out as she rode him.

It took a lot of effort, and she felt the dampness of sweat dewing at her body, felt her heart pound, her breath coming out in quick little pants. It was harder to keep going as her pleasure built, weakening her, and it did not go unnoticed by Philippe.

He eventually instructed her to dismount him and lie on her side, and she immediately knew what he intended to do, smirking at him before obeying. He positioned himself behind her, and they were in the exact position she had found him and Sorelli in. When he entered her this way, it felt even better, somehow fuller than before, and she moaned. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he purred into her ear, teasing her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, yes, Philippe," she cooed, pressing her backside to meet him thrust for delicious thrust. She felt his wet lips on her neck, trailing over to her shoulder, and she shuddered around him hard. Her pleasure was building again, very, very close to being released, and she dug her fingers into his bare thigh, the feel of the tight, hairy skin thrilling. When his hand slipped down from her breast to between her legs, a single finger swirling around where she needed it most, she came apart at last again, shaking and nearly sobbing with the overwhelming release.

With a loud groan, Philippe's own pleasure followed, clutching her close as she felt his warmth release deep inside of her.

Both of them sated and exhausted, they lied there, still connected, for a very long time. Christine could have fallen asleep, but then she felt the brush of his lips on her temple.

"I must return to my own bedroom," he said, voice low. "Lest I fall asleep in here with you. _That_ would be interesting to explain."

She giggled. "Indeed."

He pulled away and hopped off the bed, and she turned to see him pulling on his trousers, looking at her with that handsome, charming smile. "I must say, Christine," Philippe started, shaking his head with a slightly awed expression. "My brother is…one _very_ lucky man."

"I had a good instructor," she complimented back, beaming.

He strode back to her and bent down to claim her mouth in a quick kiss. "You better come to me if you need further teaching," he said, kissing her once more and then standing upright.

"But of course, Monsieur le Comte," she replied coquettishly, and he kissed her hand like a gentleman before turning and quietly leaving the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Almost a month later and here's chapter two, haha. I'm so sorry for the delay. This chapter was a _struggle_ to write for obvious reasons (being that I am straight and have never written something like this before) but with the approval of my bi friend, I am somewhat confident in posting! **

**So, let's see how Sorelli feels about Christine's midnight visit from Philippe, shall we?**

 **Please enjoy, and review. :)**

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Chapter 2- Softness

She merely lied there for a while, naked, sprawled out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with blurry eyes. Exhaustion and bliss wore heavy on her, and she resisted the strong urge to sleep, knowing she needed to find the strength to get up and don her nightclothes again. Eventually, she did, her limbs feeling heavy and strange as she got up, wincing when she felt the soreness of her lower body. It was not unbearable, though, but she suspected it would feel much worse in the morning.

Ah, well. As if she could regret the things that had just transpired. She could not shed the smile from her lips as she replaced only her nightgown, too lazy to don anything else.

After a quick venture to the bathroom, Christine sat— _very_ carefully—at the mirror, attempting to brush out her wild, tangled curls. She could hardly believe the face looking back in the reflection belonged to her. Swollen lips upturned in a small yet flirtatious smile, flushed cheeks, bright blue eyes filled with the secrets she had discovered.

 _Oh, the possibilities!_

Of course, Christine had always wondered about the pleasures of the human body, had frequently imagined what it would be like to make love. But never had she expected that the things done between two people could be so utterly delicious, so overwhelmingly good.

Something so wonderful could not possibly be wrong, could it?

The night had changed her, Christine knew. She had been a sleeping flower, had only just begun to awaken, and would need much more tending before she could bloom fully. She had much work to do.

Humming softly as she brushed her hair, she fantasized of other ways she could find mutual pleasure and with whom, thinking of the endless possibilities that lied before her now. Surprisingly… _he_ was one of the first people on her mind, despite all the Phantom had done. Should she not find the man who had awakened this passion in her to begin with? Show her gratitude in a way he would no doubt enjoy? She bit her lip as she imagined what _his_ pleasured groans would sound like, coming from his sensual, musical voice. Her stomach fluttered just imagining it.

When she finally crawled back into the madly comfortable bed, she fell asleep with ease, dreaming of finding the Phantom and sharing her newfound secrets with him.

* * *

The guilt had not come until morning.

When Christine woke, body sore and aching, she was brought a note from Raoul stating that he and Philippe had to attend an unexpected business meeting that would last much of the day. In it he profusely apologized and promised to return as soon as he could, and reminded her of how much he loved her and loved having her here at his family's home. She chewed on her lip with worry as she read it over and over, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her stomach twisting with what she had done.

And then there was a knock at her door.

"Come in," Christine said, figuring it was a servant or housekeeper or something, but when Sorelli came in and shut the door behind her, Christine immediately sat up straighter on the bed, warily studying the woman. Her silky black hair was down, framing her face in soft waves, and she wore an open robe over her thin chemise and stockings. Though Christine was only in her nightgown herself, Sorelli's state of undress had her swallowing hard. The woman's lovely face was not necessarily unfriendly, but Christine's stomach still fluttered with nerves.

Why had she come?

"Oh," Christine finally said, questions evident in her shaky voice, as Sorelli approached the bed. "Good m-morning, Sorelli."

"Christine," she greeted in return, an unreadable expression on her tan face.

When Christine opened her mouth to speak again, she was cut off by Sorelli's question: "Tell me, little Daaé, how did you enjoy fucking my Comte last night?"

Christine paled, gaping, no words being able to form on her dry tongue. _Oh no. Oh God._ Sorelli stared at her with raised eyebrows, her face amused as she waited, but Christine could only shake her head slightly, willing for the right explanation to pop into her mind.

But then, Sorelli giggled, erasing all hints of intimidation as she sat on the edge of the bed. "I am only kidding," she laughed, and then sighed, "We all know Philippe is not—and will never be, for that matter— _mine."_ She rolled her eyes, and Christine only continued to gape at her. "That man will never settle down, I just know it. But it is fine; I do not intend to marry either way. I could never give up dancing for a husband and _children_." She shuddered as if the thought were repulsive to her.

Christine finally clamped her mouth shut, realizing she could relax, that she was not in trouble like she had thought. Still, her voice was barely more than a whisper as she asked, "Philippe…told you, then?" _How dare he! Oh God…_ Would he tell Raoul?

"Early this morning, yes. We have always been very open about our other bed partners. It helps to keep things casual between us." She shrugged. "He told me you were…a real treat." Sorelli smirked and raised a black, perfectly groomed brow, and Christine's cheeks warmed, having to look away from the woman's dark eyes. Her hands began to tremble in her lap.

Sorelli sighed, her expression turning to one of concern at Christine's silence. "Forgive my teasing. How are you feeling?"

There was a very long pause before Christine could respond. "I feel fine…physically, at least." She bit her lip. Sorelli looked genuinely concerned, which surprised her. They had only been acquaintances during the time they had known each other, not close but not enemies either, of course. Could she trust Sorelli?

She desperately needed to talk to _someone_ , and she supposed Sorelli was as good a person as any, considering she already knew what Christine had done anyway. If she intended to tell Raoul, there was not much Christine could do about it. Perhaps if she explained herself, Sorelli would understand…

"However," Christine murmured, unable to meet the woman's warm eyes. "I cannot believe how easily I gave up my virtue. To Raoul's _brother,_ no less!" She groaned quietly and put her head in her hands, her elbows resting on her legs. "I am a terrible person."

She felt Sorelli scoot closer to her, felt a hand on her shoulder soon after. "You were only following your desires," Sorelli assured her quietly. "I do not see anything wrong with that. Besides, you were doing it _for_ Raoul, were you not? So you could learn to be good for him?"

Christine's head snapped up, and she stared at Sorelli's kind, caring, beautiful face with wide eyes. If she was being honest with herself, Christine had hardly thought of Raoul at all last night, besides that one fleeting moment before Philippe's seduction. She had even pictured doing the deed with _the Phantom_ —a murderer—before even considering it with Raoul! But when Sorelli suggested that she had done it _for_ him…so she could please him…

"Yes," Christine finally said, nodding, clinging to it. "Yes, I did it for Raoul."

Sorelli smiled. "Then you have nothing to be ashamed of." Her hand squeezed Christine's shoulder gently, and then softly stroked Christine's wild, bed-mangled hair. "It is not like _he_ is a virgin either. I mean, if he is anything like Philippe there is no way he is…" she trailed off with a laugh, shaking her head.

A gust of air left Christine's lips as she considered Sorelli's words, her heart seeming to pause for a moment. Raoul…oh, how had she never even thought that he could have already bedded a woman? He _was_ a man, had been for quite a while before they reunited after years separated! It was entirely possible. Would her feelings for him change if it were true? Would she resent him for it?

She _had_ to know. And there was only one way to find out if he was educated in lovemaking without asking him outright.

Sorelli's pleasantly raspy voice interrupted her stressed thoughts: "Oh, Christine, your hair is a mess. You should let me help you prepare for when the Vicomte returns home. I've no doubt that you will want to test out the waters with him tonight." She winked, and Christine flushed a deep pink. "I'll bet you are sore, too. A hot bath is just what you need." Before Christine could say anything more, Sorelli jumped up and dashed into the bathroom, her dancer's step lithe and graceful, and Christine could hear the sounds of running water soon after.

She finally climbed off the bed and slowly followed after Sorelli, and when she entered the brightly lit bathroom, Sorelli was pouring something into the large bathtub that made the water foam with tiny bubbles. The woman was checking the water's temperature with her fingers when she looked up and saw Christine. "This will make you smell fantastic," she said, holding up the bottle and smiling. "Raoul will not be able to resist you."

Good. She would need all the help she could get.

Christine finally smiled back at Sorelli, seeing that the woman was genuinely kind and only wanted to help. It was very nice to have a female to talk with after everything, one that would not judge her or scold her for what she did. She had no idea what she would be thinking at the moment had Sorelli never come and offered reassurance and comfort as she did.

"Thank you," Christine said, meaning it, and Sorelli approached her and touched her cheek affectionately.

"You deserve to be happy," Sorelli said quietly, her smile faltering. "You have always been so kind to everyone at the opera, no matter how _ghastly_ some of them are." She shook her head in wonder. "And…well, I heard about what happened to you…with the opera ghost." Christine froze, but Sorelli went on. "How he pretended to be an angel and kidnapped you. I cannot even imagine… Oh, that must have been so terrifying." Sorelli embraced Christine then, holding her close with soft hands clutching her back.

Christine's lips parted at the press of Sorelli's body against hers, the softness of the woman making her suck in a startled breath.

She inhaled, Sorelli's feminine, floral, and very pleasant scent arousing her senses, and she pressed herself closer. Being much shorter than Sorelli, she was very aware of Sorelli's soft, full breasts against her cheek; as well as very aware of the extremely thin clothing they both wore. It made her knees tremble underneath her. She felt Sorelli sigh in contentment, heard the soft, tuneless hum that came with the release of air, and Christine's stomach fluttered at the noise.

 _Oh…_

When Sorelli pulled away with a warm smile, Christine was sure her cheeks were tomato red. "Let's get you in the bath," Sorelli instructed, her voice lower than before, and Christine had no idea what to do or how to react when Sorelli grasped Christine's nightgown and pulled it up and off, revealing her nakedness underneath.

She watched Sorelli's golden brown eyes take all of her in, watched how the woman's white teeth grazed her full bottom lip. Christine could feel her hands trembling under the scrutiny, wondered why her heart raced in her chest, why she felt heated when she was standing naked in a cold bathroom with another female.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Sorelli asked quietly, meeting Christine's blue eyes in a heated glance.

Swallowing, Christine turned in a daze and stepped into the large tub, sinking into the steaming, foaming water. Her tender womanhood stung for a moment once under the hot bath, and she fought back a hiss. She watched curiously as Sorelli fetched a water pitcher from the cabinet and filled it from the bath's tap.

"You know, I have always admired your hair," Sorelli said. "It is the first thing I noticed about you when you arrived at the opera house. Such long, lovely brown curls… May I wash them, Christine?"

Christine stared up at her for a moment with parted lips, hardly able to believe her request. She wanted to…wash Christine's hair?

"Oh, um…sure." Christine did not see why not.

Sorelli beamed, flashing her perfect teeth, and came to stand behind where Christine sat in the bath. With a soft, low voice, Sorelli instructed Christine to tilt her head back, and Sorelli gently poured the warm water over her head, careful not to get any of the water in Christine's eyes. Sorelli repeated the process a few more times; filling the pitcher and saturating Christine's hair until it was completely drenched, and then shut off the water before the tub filled too high.

Using a mild soap, Sorelli lathered Christine's hair, took her time washing. She massaged Christine's scalp with long, soft but firm fingers, and Christine could not help but close her eyes in relaxation, sigh with pleasure. She had not had her hair washed by someone other than herself since she was a small child, and she found she enjoyed it very much. She felt as if she were being pampered, looked after, and it was _so_ nice.

She would have to find some way to repay Sorelli for this.

After thoroughly rinsing Christine's now-clean hair, Sorelli set the pitcher aside, bringing Christine a washcloth and more soap. "I will fetch you clean clothes," Sorelli said softly, drying her hands with one of the thick towels stacked on a shelf. When she strode back into the bedroom, Christine released a long breath, beginning to wash herself with shaky hands, her mind racing.

She cleansed her body quickly but thoroughly, wincing when she made contact with the sensitive skin between her legs. It was definitely sore there, and tender, but it did not hurt near as bad as she had expected, and for that she was thankful. If things went as planned this evening, she would be making love again. The thought made her stomach twist with nerves, yet flutter with excitement.

Once finished, she drained the water and wrapped herself in a large, fluffy towel, her hair dripping down her back as she stepped out of the tub. Sorelli returned with clothing articles draped over her arm, but she set them aside upon seeing Christine standing awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom.

"Oh, Christine, your hair is so wet," Sorelli complained, grabbing another towel. "Here, let me help you." Sorelli came to stand mere inches away from Christine, and reached around her head to wrap her hair in the towel, squeezing the excess water out. "There you go," Sorelli murmured, and Christine could feel the woman's breath fanning her face with how close she stood.

"Thank you," Christine said, gulping. "It was…very nice of you to h-help me. With my hair…and for talking to me." She looked up, blue eyes meeting warm brown, and watched Sorelli look down on her with curiosity. Sorelli sucked in a breath between her full lips, her eyes shutting and…her head leaning down…

The next thing Christine knew, she was being kissed by a woman. Not only that, but also _kissing_ said woman back. Sorelli's lips were the softest she had ever felt, warm, and moving gently against hers. The towel forgotten, falling to the floor, Sorelli's fingers tangled into Christine's damp hair, and Christine emitted a whimper when Sorelli deepened their kiss, parting lips and seeking entrance with soft tongue.

"Mmm," Sorelli hummed against Christine's lips. "A real treat, indeed."

Christine's hands, which were clutching the towel to her body, ached to touch Sorelli before her, and so she finally let the fabric fall, uncaring. She first trailed a hesitant touch down Sorelli's back, then arms, marveling at the softness of the woman. Though Christine had always admired the beauty of women, she had never quite thought of them in _this_ way before. Still, she responded to Sorelli's kiss with every bit of excitement as she had Philippe and Raoul the night before.

Eventually, Sorelli broke their kiss, looking down at Christine with dark eyes. "What would you like to do, Christine?" Sorelli whispered, her breath heavy.

Christine bit her glistening lower lip, considering. She looked down at her nakedness, then looked at Sorelli's glorious body covered by thin garments, and with all the courage she could muster she said, "I…I want to see you. Without…this." She quickly gestured to the woman's light clothing. Yes, Christine had seen Sorelli without a stitch the night before, but not standing in front of her in the brilliant morning light. Plus…Christine did not like being the only one so exposed.

Without falter, Sorelli slipped off her robe and flung off her stockings, but when she reached for her chemise, Christine stopped her.

"Wait," she said, and Sorelli froze, looking at her curiously. Christine reached for either side of Sorelli's waist, gently grasping the fabric and pulling it up, ever slowly. Christine gaped at the woman's body when it was freed from the chemise, marveling at such smooth, golden skin, feeling privileged to look on such beauty and also jealous that _she_ did not look that way. Tall, graceful even when still, full breasts, strong dancer's legs that still looked incredibly soft, narrow hips. Christine sighed in envy.

"What is the matter?" Sorelli's black brows were furrowed in concern.

"You are very beautiful," Christine murmured, looking down, unable to keep the hint of sadness from her voice. "That is all."

One gentle finger lifted her chin up to meet Sorelli's gaze. "And you do not think _you_ are?"

Christine did not answer, and Sorelli took her hand and led her from the bathroom into the bedroom, turning Christine to face the vanity mirror. They looked at her naked body, and Sorelli trailed light hands up and down Christine's arms. Christine could feel Sorelli's warmth close behind her.

"Look at you," Sorelli breathed into her ear. "Look at your creamy skin, your rosy flush…" A soft kiss to Christine's warm cheek followed, and perfect hands ran down her slim sides and wide hips. She shivered. "Look at your soft curves, your petite form. Such a beautiful face, and _beautiful_ hair. Those sapphire blue eyes… You could drive anyone mad, Christine Daaé." Sorelli's voice was low, seductive, breathy, and Christine put her hands atop the one's exploring her body with a quiet, longing whimper, beginning to tremble with want.

Sorelli grasped Christine's breasts, first massaging softly and then playing with the hard, pink buds there. Christine bit her lip to hold back a moan, her thighs clenching together where she stood. Watching the scene in the mirror before them was almost too much, and she felt she had to shut her eyes.

As soon as her eyes slid closed, one of Sorelli's hands slid down, down her stomach and lower. Christine stepped her legs apart to allow the soft hand access to the sensitive place between them, and she moaned softly when it made contact, ever gently.

 _Oh,_ it felt good. So good, and she swam with moisture. But Christine did not want to be selfish. Sorelli was the one who deserved to be pleasured, after all the woman had done for Christine. "M-may I touch you, Sorelli?" Christine gasped, and she felt the smile on Sorelli's lips when it pressed to her neck.

"Of course."

Sorelli took Christine's hand and led her to the bed, and they both sat on the edge, facing one another. Christine leaned up to kiss Sorelli's full lips again, loving how soft they felt against her own, and then kissed the woman's neck, pausing every so often to inhale the wonderful scent that was naturally _Sorelli._ As Christine kissed, she also touched, trailing fingers hesitantly down Sorelli's silky arms, legs, torso.

Knowing how sensitive her own breasts were, Christine placed her small hand against one of Sorelli's full mounds, grabbing and massaging the flesh softly. She remembered how Philippe's mouth on this part of her had made her feel the night before, and Christine kissed her way down to Sorelli's other breast, closing her mouth over the hard bud. She swirled her tongue around it and then sucked, testing, and Sorelli's soft moan was enough encouragement to continue.

After a moment, Sorelli took Christine's hand that had been on her other breast and guided it down, and Christine inhaled a bit sharply when it touched the warm, ever silky soft place between the woman's legs. Christine touched Sorelli with hesitance, exploring this secret place and learning how to make the woman moan and shudder and sigh and coo.

Christine dared to let one finger slip inside the warm wetness, coating in Sorelli's arousal and then coming up to tease the spot she knew was the most important from what she learned the previous night. What else had she learned…

Pausing her attentions, Christine gently coaxed Sorelli to lie down on the bed. Both women had flushed cheeks and hazy eyes as they looked at one another, and Christine bit her lip before asking in a hoarse whisper, "May I kiss you?"

Sorelli nodded heavily, and Christine slowly bent down to first kiss her mouth, then her neck, then chest, then stomach, imitating the sequence Philippe had used on Christine herself. Shaky hands coaxed Sorelli's legs apart, and Christine finally kissed her between them, remembering how exquisite it had felt for her, and hoping it would be the same for Sorelli.

The woman tangled her fingers into Christine's damp hair, encouraging with a soft moan. Christine kissed and licked the delicate area, her tongue swirling and her lips sucking the spot that made Sorelli cry out the most. "Fingers, too," Sorelli demanded in a soft, high-pitched voice filled with need, and Christine willingly obliged, inserting two fingers into the tight, wet warmth without faltering her mouth's work.

"Oh, _yes_!" Sorelli rasped, sounding dazed and pleasantly surprised, and her fingers were tightening their grip in Christine's hair. Christine could feel Sorelli squirming and shuddering, and she intensified her attentions, fingers quickening their pace and tongue massaging more firmly. When Sorelli finally vocalized her release in a loud cry, Christine could not hold back a moan of her own, finding herself extremely aroused by giving another woman such pleasure. Only when the woman relaxed altogether did Christine stop.

"My God. Where did you learn to do _that,_ little Daaé?" Sorelli gasped.

Christine sat up with a smug smirk, shrugging. "Philippe, I suppose."

They both giggled, and Sorelli sat up to kiss Christine's glistening lips, then trailing kisses down. "Are you very sore, still?"

"A little," Christine admitted in a sigh, her eyes rolling back a bit when Sorelli kissed and sucked at her neck.

"Hmm," Sorelli hummed. "I will be especially gentle, then."

Christine was the one being guided to lie down now, and Sorelli paid ample attention to Christine's breasts first, until each nipple was glistening and swollen and Christine burned for more. Christine spread her legs when Sorelli kissed downward, much more than ready to be devoured. She shivered in anticipation as Sorelli kissed the insides of her thighs slowly, softly, teasingly. Christine reached down and touched the woman's silky hair, silently praying to be kissed where she needed to be kissed the most, and _fast_.

Finally, _finally,_ Sorelli swiped her warm, soft tongue up Christine, and Christine whimpered, shuddering. She felt as if she were on fire, burning, and the only way the flames would be doused were by the sweet licks Sorelli bestowed upon her most intimate spot. The woman's hands still toyed with Christine's breasts, long, perfect fingers pinching the hard, pink buds, only intensifying the ache for release Christine felt. Sorelli seemed to know exactly where Christine screamed the most, focusing every soft, gentle lick right on that spot, and it was not long before Christine began to see white, hot light behind her closed eyes. Crying out, Christine exploded, her back arching and her body jerking before finally sinking into a relaxed puddle of limbs.

Sorelli lied down next to her, and they both breathed heavily, looking at each other with startled, delighted eyes.

"What a delightful morning," Christine eventually said, awed, and Sorelli laughed.

"I agree. Now, we must get you ready for the Vicomte's return home this evening." Sorelli grinned wickedly as she jumped up from the bed. "Let me choose you the perfect dress for dinner. Tonight's meal will no doubt prove…interesting."

 _Oh, God._ Dinner. With Raoul, Philippe, and Sorelli.

Christine huffed out a stressed breath as she stared at the ceiling.

Yes, dinner would prove interesting. No doubt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Quick warning that this chapter is not near as fluffy as the previous two, but I hope to make up for it later!**

 **Please, please, PLEASE, don't forget to review. :)**

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Chapter 3- Attainment

If Christine had known what lied ahead of her as she descended the staircase for supper, she might have turned right back around, faked a splitting headache and not come down at all.

Of course, it was impossible to know such things.

Raoul had returned later that afternoon, and her heart had stuttered at the look on his face when he took in her low cut, deep blue ensemble and elegant hairstyle that Sorelli had helped her with. Perhaps seducing him would not be as difficult as she anticipated, she thought with a flutter in her belly. She had grinned inwardly when Raoul gave her a lingering kiss in greeting.

When they had entered the dining room for supper, Christine noticed Philippe and Sorelli already seated, close, whispering to one another at the table and laughing under their breath with subtle glances in her direction. That alone was enough to raise a nervous flush to her cheeks, along with merely being in the two's presence after what had transpired in that last day and night.

But all of that was nothing compared to what followed.

It began with a subtle comment on Raoul's part about Christine's work at the opera house, and Philippe had chimed in with an enthusiastic, "Oh, yes! Your Christine is _quite_ the performer, brother." His wolfish grin very nearly made her spit out the sip of wine she had been taking. Luckily, she had swallowed in time and disguised the incident with a coughing fit.

When Christine could breathe again and Raoul's concern faded, Sorelli nodded in agreement. "Indeed, dear Vicomte. I have worked with Christine for a few years now; she is quite adept at picking up new skills."

Christine glared at the two of them, and then dared to steal a glance at Raoul. The poor, oblivious young man was smiling in glee, though there was definitely a bit of confusion in his shining eyes as he nodded. "Oh, why yes! Thank you for pointing that out, Sorelli."

"And her vocalization?" Philippe offered, stormy eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. "Simply brilliant. Excellent breath control, too."

"Mmm," Sorelli agreed, dark eyes fixed only on her. "Our Christine is such a people pleaser, is she not? You are very lucky to have such a woman." Her gaze switched to Raoul then.

At this point, Christine had been pretending to be very focused on her food, and she had to fight from choking with each startling comment from the couple in front of her, her cheeks burning as she stole glances at Raoul every few seconds. She could tell he was quite confused now, no doubt wondering what was with the sudden, profuse praise toward her. They had not been like this the previous night at dinner, and she could see him trying to read each of their faces. Christine's heart nearly stopped when he looked on hers, praying he could not clearly see how mortified she was.

She sighed in relief when he only smiled warmly at her, patting her leg once under the table in reassurance. He likely only thought she was being shy.

"I agree. I agree with both of you! She is wonderful. I am very lucky, indeed."

Oh, he was so handsome, so oblivious. She smiled back at him softly, until she remembered her seduction plans, and then she chewed on her lip nervously as her stomach flipped.

Throughout the rest of their meal, the constant, teasing innuendos persisted, and Christine never said a word. She was immensely frustrated with the older couple in front of her, and, of course, at herself for even getting in this situation in the first place. Her clenched fists in her lap shook and dewed with sweat, the blush never fully leaving her cheeks all throughout their meal. The room felt a hundred degrees, at least. Christine had thought she could trust the two to remain inconspicuous! She should have known they would have their fun at her expense…

The last straw was when Philippe had pointed out her profound silence. "Christine, are you quite all right? It is unlike you to be so quiet." She could have slapped that smirk right off his handsome mouth. Or kissed it in a passionate rage. She was unsure which she desired to do more, and that frustrated her to no end.

"Yes," Sorelli chimed in with mock concern on her perfect brow. "It is not like you, at all. You are always _so_ ready to engage." Christine's mouth went dry as Sorelli licked her lips, slowly and deliberately.

When Raoul's own brow visibly came together in question, Christine shot up from her seat. "I need some air!" she very nearly shouted, and then cleared her hoarse throat, shutting her eyes in embarrassment to hide from the startled gazes she could just _feel_ on her. "Pardon me," she said, quieter now, looking down at Raoul and not daring to meet the amused eyes of the pair on the other side of the table. "Raoul, would you accompany me outside, please?"

He immediately stood, nodding and taking both of her hands. "Of course, darling."

Raoul had offered to retrieve her cloak, but Christine had shaken her head, claiming that she was feeling much too warm and needed the cold night air on her skin. Which was not a lie. She was scorching.

They roamed until they were in the dark courtyard, lit only by a few dim lampposts and the crescent moon in the sky. Raoul guided Christine to a stone bench that overlooked the gardens and helped her sit, obviously concerned with her state.

"I am fine," she assured him, though a little breathlessly. "Simply too warm. Perhaps I…had a little too much wine. It will pass, I am sure."

"Sweet Little Lotte," Raoul murmured warmly, pressing a kiss to her gloved hand and then brushing her pink cheek with his thumb. "I know what this flush is really about. You are too humble. You could barely handle all of those compliments my brother and Sorelli were giving you!"

Amazed at his obliviousness, Christine looked away, smiling sheepishly. "Perhaps you are right. They…took me by surprise, is all." She hoped he could not hear how her voice trembled.

"Why would you be surprised?" His voice was low in her ear, for he had leaned very close, and his lips brushed the space just below it. "Everything they said was true." He kissed down the side of her neck, pausing to inhale, and his warm breath on her skin along with his fingers brushing the nape of her neck sent a shiver down her spine. Letting out a shaky breath, she vaguely remembered; wasn't _she_ supposed to be the one seducing _him_?

"Raoul," she sighed his name when she felt his hand rest on her upper leg atop her skirts.

"Forgive me, Christine." His lips continued their sweet assault on her neck, not helping to calm her racing blood in the slightest. "I seem unable to help myself. You look so beautiful in blue, and, dear _God,_ you smell so good."

Her hands found his shoulders, pushing him away from her just enough so she could bring her own lips to his, her fingers fisting the lapels of his coat. She kissed him hard, moaning, parting her lips to allow his tongue access into her mouth. Oh, he tasted divine, and she could feel his hand on her leg grasp the fabric of her dress in a tight fist.

When she eagerly pressed her body as close as it could get to his on the bench, he finally broke away with a gasp. "Wait," he said breathlessly. "Oh, Christine, _wait._ "

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment and disappointment, but she still obeyed, taking deep breaths to calm herself as she pulled away from him.

Raoul himself also took a deep breath, eyes seemingly unable to meet hers for a moment. He wrung his hands together in a nervous gesture, and her heart seemed to pause when he produced a little, velvet lined box from his jacket pocket. "I must do this the right way," he stuttered, still unable to meet her eyes, which were now wide with shock and perhaps a bit of fright. "You deserve nothing less. And with the approval of my brother, well…" He finally met her gaze then, and there was so much hope and apprehension in his eyes that she felt her stomach twist painfully at the sight.

"Raoul," she breathed in warning with a slight shake of her head, but he opened the box anyway, revealing an extraordinary diamond ring that sparkled even in the sparse light of the courtyard. The sight of it took her breath away.

"Christine Daaé," he said, his voice shaking with nerves and emotion as he took her gloved left hand into his warm palm. "I love you. I promise to love you always. Please, do me the honor of being my wife."

 _Oh…oh, no. Oh God._

Her mind raced. Spun.

She had _not_ anticipated this proposal so soon. Especially not now, in the midst of what she was going through, before she even got the chance to make love to him. Surely he would not insist on waiting until they were married, would he? She felt trapped and conflicted and terrified and unsure and…

He reached for her glove as though intending to take it off, and Christine panicked. He meant to slip the ring onto her finger!

"I…" she choked, pulling her hand away. "R-right now? You want to get engaged right _now?_ "

Watching his face fall made her feel sick. "Of…of course. Why on Earth would I want to wait?" His voice was small.

She gulped. "I…just thought with all that is going on right now with my career and…and the opera house…"

"What do you mean? Christine, I would never make you give up your dream. You may perform all you like while we are engaged!"

"Oh, that is not precisely what I mean, Raoul."

She saw realization strike him, and he shook his head once, his eyes clenching shut for a moment in frustration. The air was tense around them. "Tell me plainly, Christine." Raoul spoke firmly, and her fists clenched in her lap. "Is this about _him_?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. _Damn him for being right._ "What if it is, Raoul? What if I am…afraid of his reaction when he finds out? Is that so wrong?" It was not necessarily a lie, but still, Christine had other obvious reasons on why she did not want to commit to Raoul immediately…and none of those were things she could ever tell him outright unless she wanted him to hate her forever.

He sighed, his eyes softening as he stroked her cheek again. "No. No, it is not wrong to fear for that. But there is no _reason_ to, darling. We have not heard from him in weeks! If he is not gone or dead somewhere, what could he possibly do?"

Christine jumped to her feet, glaring down at him hotly. "Do you forget how he _murdered_ in front of us? Or how he very nearly dropped a chandelier on me? There is no telling what else he could do!" Her sudden outburst startled the both of them, and they each were silent for a long moment following.

Honestly, Christine had been willing to forgive the Phantom for all he had done, understanding to some extent why he had done it…but it was as if she was suddenly just remembering _everything_. She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, trying to stop her mind from racing so fast. Perhaps she was being ridiculous. Perhaps she should just tell Raoul yes and accept the ring already…

But she could _not._ Not yet, at least.

She cleared her dry throat, troubled by Raoul's silence. "I only think we should wait a little bit…talk about this," she stammered. "That is all."

Raoul sighed, running a hand through his thick blonde locks in a frustrated gesture. "I do not see what there is to discuss. You either want to marry or you do not. It is as simple as that."

"Of course I _want_ to marry you, Raoul! But it might not be the right time. I think we need to really think about this."

He could not meet her eyes for a while. "What then, Christine?" he finally muttered. "You know that I love you, and that I want you to be mine forever. Are you refusing my proposal?" The longing for her to say no was there in his voice, and she felt her heart squeeze painfully for not being able to give him the answer he wanted right then.

Oh, how had this night turned so sour so fast?

Slowly, she came and sat next to him on the bench once again. "Please, may we discuss this tomorrow, Raoul?" She placed a hand on his thigh boldly, and though his lips parted in shock and he looked on her briefly with something other than hurt and disappointment, he still, somehow, stood and stepped away from her touch after a moment.

"All right. Goodnight, then."

With his cold, clipped words, he strode away from her and to the house without a backward glance. She watched him with longing eyes, her face paling. It had not been her intention to hurt him. It was obvious that she had, for Raoul had always been warm and supportive and comforting and all too ready to calm her fears. And he had just walked away from her without a second thought, unable to even discuss her hesitations through.

She could not resent him for that, though, she knew. Raoul was right to be angry with her. She was even angry with herself.

Christine sighed heavily as she began making her way back inside, shivering now from the cold and crossing her arms together tightly in hopes for the friction to warm her. Thankfully, she made it to her room without running into Philippe or Sorelli. She had no idea how she would react to seeing either of their traitorous, lovely faces after the evening she had had. She would like to think she would be courageous enough to give them a piece of her mind after they had teased her so, but she was not unaware of the effect the two had on her.

She readied herself for bed mechanically, sighing sadly every so often. Though it was selfish, Christine could not help but be very disappointed by the fact that her plans for the evening were now ruined. She had been so caught off guard by the proposal that she had nearly forgotten what she meant to do. Visions flooded her mind of her intention to successfully seduce Raoul, how his sweet kisses would trail all over her skin, how his soft hands would touch her _everywhere_ , how he would look without his clothing.. _._

And how she would figure out if he were as untouched as she had been just the day before.

It was something that had eaten away at her mind from the moment Sorelli mentioned it to be a possibility earlier that day. Of course, most of it was only morbid curiosity, but another part of it was…if Raoul were not innocent, and they did end up becoming husband and wife, then Christine would not have to feel as guilty for the things she had done with the others. She knew it was an awful thought; she _should_ feel horrible for what she had done either way; and she did! But still…

It killed her that she would not be able to find out. If only Raoul had waited just a bit longer.

Perhaps it was for the best, she thought with another sigh. She _was_ still sore from the previous night after all, and though she still ached for touch from all of the excitement of dinner and Raoul's kisses, she figured at least she would have some time to recover before giving it another try some other day.

But _oh,_ how she ached as she remembered Philippe and Sorelli's sensual teasing, as her mind still flooded with memories and fantasies, of them, of Raoul, of _him_ …

She tossed and turned in bed, groaning in frustration and unable to lie still. Every time her eyes shut, she was unable to stop seeing Raoul's eyes behind her lids, darkened slightly with desire, and she could not stop imagining his hands on her. Though her own hands were much smaller than his, she grasped at her breasts with hesitance, pretending that it was him who touched her, biting her lip. One hand trailed down to her burning core, caressing herself over her bedclothes, and she moaned quietly.

"Raoul," his name was but a breath leaving her lips, and she found her hardened nipple, grasping and massaging between thumb and forefinger, the neckline of her nightgown having been pulled down to expose it to her touch. In turn, she rubbed herself more firmly; whimpering Raoul's name as she imagined he was the one giving her pleasure, and she could almost believe the fantasy was real. She did not feel alone in the dim bedroom.

And it was because she was not.

"Christine." Her eyes snapped open, and he was standing in the doorway, still fully dressed save for his coat, gaping at her, at what she had been doing right before his eyes.

She squeaked in embarrassment, sitting up quickly and covering herself with the thick bedding. "Raoul!" Her face was on fire as she scolded him. "What… Why didn't you knock?"

He did not answer, did not say a word as he fully entered the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Her heart raced in her chest as she looked on his face, which was startled, yet hungry and deliberating. She adjusted her nightgown until she was safely covered again, jumping off the bed and stammering a weak explanation of what she had been doing, but was cut off when Raoul strode forward with determination, not hesitating as his hands fisted in her hair and crushed his soft lips down on hers.

Christine swallowed his groan, her stomach fluttering as Raoul kissed her like he never had before. The kiss delighted her, but also frightened her just a little; as he had never kissed her so rough, so fast, so insistent…a stranger's kiss. There was no doubt in her mind that he intended to have her, and she would not refuse him, of course not. She had _wanted_ this, all along!

So why did she feel so uneasy?

"Raoul," she gasped, breaking away from his mouth. He only moved his lips to her neck, where he kissed and sucked and licked. Her eyes rolled back into her head a bit. "S-slow down." The request was half hearted, and she clutched at his muscular arms.

"Christine," he groaned. "Oh, I was so _angry_ with you. But seeing you touching yourself, saying _my_ name…" He did not finish the statement, but moaned as he claimed her mouth again with a warm tongue seeking entrance. She welcomed him, her skin burning and her mind spinning, and before she knew it one of Raoul's soft, strong hands was grasping at her chest.

"You were not supposed to see that," she whimpered into his lips, shuddering from his sensual touch.

"Oh, I am glad I did, Lotte."

Moaning, Christine pushed herself against him, unable to get close enough even as his free arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. Oh, how she could not wait to see all of him, to learn his body and give him pleasure as he learned hers.

But then, Raoul was already pushing her down, climbing atop her on the bed and pulling her nightgown up to her waist.

She jolted with a startled cry when his hand slipped from her breast and cupped her right between her legs without warning, his quick, insistent touch equal parts frightening and searing. Her head swam, and she could not think coherently as Raoul's mouth hungrily kissed down her neck. With his free hand, he yanked the neckline of her nightgown down, immediately closing his mouth over one hard, pink nipple. She shuddered, and then cried out when he sucked a little too hard than what was comfortable.

She felt his groan vibrating against her skin as he suckled, and she writhed underneath him as he was still massaging her center firmly. It did not hurt, but she wished he would be just a little more gentle, slower, overwhelmed with sensation as she was. Just as that thought crossed her mind, Raoul inserted two fingers into her eagerly, causing a startled cry to burst from Christine's throat.

The sound seemed to break him from his determined haze, and he released her breast from his mouth and looked at her with wide eyes. "Does this hurt?" he choked, glancing down at his hand against her, and without thinking Christine shook her head _no_.

It was in that moment, a moment too late, that she realized how stupid that had been. When she saw the pained, horrified, and almost angry realization on his face, she knew she should have lied to him, should have nodded her head _yes._ That is what a virginal girl would do, no doubt. She should not be taking his delicious invasion so easily.

But then, just as quickly as he had snapped out of it, he snapped back in, and his mouth crashed down on her again with a growl. The warmth of his fingers slipped out of her, and Christine's heart raced in her chest as she vaguely realized Raoul was fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers. _Wait,_ she wanted to say. This was moving much too fast! He was still fully dressed, and she was still wearing her nightgown…

She held her tongue, instead tangling it with Raoul's in their heated, urgent kiss, her hands working to remove his waistcoat and shirt. She did not have time to register just how fast Raoul had freed himself, did not realize how ready he was until he was already shoving himself inside of her, his rock hard thickness breaching her and forcing the breath from her lungs in a shocked, pained gasp.

Yes, there was pain. She was already sore, and Raoul seemed to be larger than Philippe had been. Her thighs spread apart, Raoul's sturdy weight atop her; he drove into her with a passion she had never thought him capable, her still tender sex burning for relief, in more ways than one. However, there was also an intense pleasure slowly building, and Christine could not find the courage to stop him, finding herself afraid of this Raoul who so easily took her so roughly, and being afraid of herself even more for…enjoying it.

What had Sorelli called it that morning? Ah, yes. Fucking.

They were _fucking_ , she realized.

When the pleasure-pain built to the point where she could not think anything at all, she broke their kiss and cried out intensely. His release followed, as well as a tortured cry of his own, his sweaty forehead pressing to hers as he trembled and gasped above her.

Their breathing eventually slowed, and Raoul removed himself from her and she winced, her thighs immediately pressing together as he adjusted his trousers and shirt. She adjusted her own nightgown, sitting up on the bed and noticing how Raoul's posture was tense, how he would not turn to look at her. She heard a shaky sigh leave him as he stumbled to the end of the bed and sat, his back to her, his elbows leaning on his knees as he stared into the fireplace.

Christine swallowed, her eyes stinging as she watched his heavy breathing. She felt very cold all of a sudden, a sort of aching hollowness making her hug her arms across her chest as if to hold herself together.

 _It was not supposed to be like that._

That one thought echoed through her mind for a very long time, as well as the memories of Philippe's slow gentleness, of Raoul's frantic roughness, of how she had imagined it to be. How it was supposed to be. Disappointment flooded her, and she wished for the chance to turn back time, to do it all over again. Differently. Tenderly.

"You have done that before."

Raoul's voice was quiet and small, and Christine almost thought she had imagined it. But his head was slightly turned in her direction, still not looking at her but enough that she knew he had addressed her.

She had not realized she had been crying until she spoke, her voice hoarse and thick, "So have you." She quietly cleared her throat, wiping fast at the moisture falling down her cheeks.

It was not an accusation. Neither of them were. They were simply facts discovered by the both of them, and now they had laid it all out. Christine thought she might have felt better about Raoul having not been a virgin either…but she only felt empty.

"Who?"

Christine's heart stopped at his question. He could not truly want to know… She did not want to know who _he_ had been with previously. "Raoul," she muttered in warning.

"Tell me," he rasped, turning his torso to look at her. His eyes were wild and agonized, but the determined set of his lips told her that he would not give up.

"You do not want to know," she breathed.

His eyes shut, a long gust of air leaving his parted full lips. There was a prolonged, tense silence between them, and then, slow and sure and tortured, "I…I think I know."

Her heart rate quickened, her palms beginning to sweat where they clutched her upper arms. _No, there is no way he knows…_ Her mouth dropped open, but no words came, and she could only stare at him with frightened eyes.

" _Him._ It was…the-the _Phantom_ , wasn't it?" He spat out the words, and he looked at her like he already knew her answer would be _yes._ Like he already believed it himself.

Christine chewed on her lip, avoiding his gaze. Would it be so terrible to let him believe that? To believe that she had lost her virtue to the opera ghost when she had really given it to _his own brother_? Which would be less painful for Raoul to grasp?

It did not take long to decide.

"Yes." The lie slipped out easily, though more tears spilled over when she looked at him, finding his face shocked and heartbroken and…pitying?

He nodded once, slowly and painfully, and rose from his place on the bed. She thought he would leave her then, but he went to her, sitting close to her and pulling her into his arms. She took the comfort she did not deserve, offered what comfort she could give, and they both cried quietly in each other's embrace for a while.

* * *

Christine had not meant to fall asleep.

When she woke, she was alone, and she was dismayed to find that the empty feeling had not subsided as she had slept. Her body was stiff and her womanhood ached, and she could hardly bear to walk to the window and see if it was an acceptable time to begin the day. The early morning sky was overcast and dark grey, and she inwardly scoffed. _How fitting._ She rubbed at her raw eyes vigorously, and set to ready herself and gather her things for her journey back to the opera house. Back home.

As she mechanically washed and dressed, she remembered her and Raoul's hushed conversation after they had cried themselves out the night before. She had decided that they needed some time apart, and Raoul had reluctantly agreed. They both had much to think about, to deliberate, and only time alone would allow that. Still, Christine had a gut feeling that her and Raoul's relationship was over, not seeing how either of them could heal from the discoveries their night together had brought.

A large breakfast was brought to her room by the time she had finished packing, and the servant took her things to be taken to the cab that would deliver her back to the opera. She figured Raoul had something to do with the breakfast, and she was touched. If she was being honest with herself, Christine was very surprised with Raoul's tenderness toward her after her false revelation about the Phantom. Perhaps he thought she had had no choice in the matter. Was that why he had looked at her so pitifully, and then held her so tightly?

Or perhaps it was guilt for the way they had…fucked.

They had not made love. They had fucked.

That fact still stung a bit.

Christine ate only a little bit, not having much of an appetite, and checked herself in the mirror once more before leaving. Her dark, wild hair framing her face only emphasized her paleness, and her eyes were puffy from her tears the night before, dark circles below them. She was a mess, truly, but she did not care. She only wanted to be away from this extravagant house that would never be hers, away from the people who had given and taken so much in such a short amount of time.

With a heavy sigh, she donned her cloak and turned to leave the room, jumping when she opened the door and found Raoul waiting for her. He jumped too, his posture straightening and his throat bobbing with his nervous swallow. He looked as exhausted as her, his hair messier than usual. She stared at him in question, waiting, and he cleared his throat before explaining, "I came to say goodbye."

Christine nodded once as she stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. "I see."

"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" he asked awkwardly, and Christine's stomach twisted. That one hopeful, simple question was so endearing and it only made it harder to leave him.

She bit her lip, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yes, thank you."

"Good, good…" he said, wringing his hands together nervously. He seemed to deliberate for a moment, looking at her with wary, sad eyes, and then he was crushing her to him in a desperate embrace, and she had to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. "I will be in touch," he murmured thickly into her hair. "I…I love you, Christine. Do not forget that. And you may contact me whenever you are ready to see me again. You understand?"

She nodded against his chest, whispering, "Yes."

His pressed his lips to her hair and released her, and she squeezed his hands in hers before turning to leave, unable to meet his eyes.

"Christine…" he stopped her, hesitating, his hand slowly reaching for her before he thought better of it and dropped it to his side. "I am…I am so sorry." He shook his head, his voice trembling. "Last night, I…it was not supposed to be like that."

Her heart squeezed painfully, and she gave him a small, sad smile. "No, it was not," she whispered.

He visibly swallowed, his brilliant eyes shimmering with tears. He reached for her again, this time allowing his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Lotte…" he breathed.

She stepped forward; pressing her lips to his in a quick, desperate kiss, knowing it would likely be their last. "Goodbye Raoul," she rasped, and with that, she turned and made her way across the hall and down the staircase with haste, unable to fight the tears from spilling over any longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is _a lot_ of dialogue because that's just how I could make words happen for it, so I hope nobody minds that! Chapter 5 shouldn't take me near as long to finish but...no promises, lol. I've been suffering a severe case of writer's block lately, but I'm glad to finally have a new chapter up for you all. :)**

 **Please review. Thank you all for reading!**

* * *

Chapter 4- Hushed Confessions

When rehearsals started up again, Christine embraced them like the welcome distraction they were to her aching heart.

With the absence of the opera ghost and, with him, his demands, the managers had decided to give La Carlotta the leading female role in the next production, and Christine would play a smaller, side role. Still, it was a step up from being in the chorus, and Christine had accepted the opportunity eagerly and put every ounce of focus and energy into it.

However, she still was not herself. The first days back had been the hardest, hardly leaving her room at all, crying and sleeping constantly. She had wanted privacy, yes, but had never felt so completely _alone_ holed up in her dressing room—having been granted permission by the managers some time ago to sleep there instead of the crowded ballet quarters. Christine had gotten so used to the days when she had her angel's voice to keep her company. No matter where she had gone, he had always been there, whispering lovely songs or words of encouragement and comfort into her ear, constantly making her feel safe and loved and protected.

She wondered why she so stupidly longed for those days again. The angel did not exist. He never had. So…why did she still long for his voice, for his mere presence? It was terrible of her, she knew, but for some reason she had almost hoped that he would still be near, watching her, caring for her. She wanted him to somehow see her dejection, hear her lamentation, but there had been nothing. No concern, no sweet words, no soothing music, no profound presence.

Was he truly gone?

And why had that single, terrifying thought make her weep all the more? _Oh, what a mess…_

She supposed she was quite fortunate to have cried herself out completely during those few days of solitude, so she was mostly able to get her emotions under control in time for rehearsals. She refused to think about Raoul, Sorelli, Philippe...refused to remember what overwhelming pleasure she had experienced…refused to acknowledge the gaping hole in her chest, nor the persistent, longing ache in her belly for _more_. She had vowed to put on a mask of apathy and focus entirely on her acting and singing, hoping no one would be able to see her pain, figure out her secrets, her desires…

Carlotta was being particularly nasty one day at rehearsal, snapping at everyone for every little thing and complaining endlessly. Christine had attempted to tune everything out around her and think about how her scenes had gone and how she could improve for next time, and it proved to be somewhat effective. She had snuck off during one of Carlotta's tantrums to get a drink of water, and was stopped when a dainty hand grabbed one of hers.

"Christine!" the high-pitched voice of her best friend hissed, and Christine turned expectantly, attempting to fix a smile to her lips. Strands of Meg's blonde hair stuck to her perspiring forehead, and her pale face was flushed. "Dear God! I have been trying to get your attention all day."

"Have you?" Christine's head tilted in confusion. Surely she would have noticed…

Meg's pale green eyes looked on her with frustration as she nodded.

Christine squeezed Meg's hand in hers, smiling sheepishly. "Oh, I am so sorry, Meg. I, ah, suppose I have been distracted lately."

"Are you upset that Carlotta got the lead?" Meg asked, softening.

She shook her head. "No, not at all."

Meg pondered this, assessing Christine with a long sweep of eyes. "Hmm. You seem different, Christine, stranger than usual. I do not know what it is. I am worried about you."

Christine chewed on her lip, avoiding Meg's questioning gaze.

"Did something happen last weekend? With the Vicomte?" Meg's hushed, innocently intended words did not fail to make Christine's stomach twist, a heavy breath leaving her as if she had been punched in the gut. Her lips trembled as she looked to her best friend, watched those green eyes widening when they saw the hurt reflected in Christine's blue.

"Meg Giry!" They both jumped at the sound of Madame's impatient summon from the stage, and Meg seemed to internally struggle with returning to her work or staying with Christine.

"Go, Meg," Christine rasped, and then did her best to swallow the lump in her throat. "We can talk this evening, if you like. Just come to my dressing room."

Meg bobbed a quick nod and hugged Christine briefly, and then turned to make her way back to the stage with haste.

* * *

The room was chilly and dim and quiet, illuminated only by a few candles she had lit, but she still infinitely preferred it to the dormitories, recalling how she had found them nearly suffocating. She briefly wondered if the managers would kick her out soon, since she was not the current prima donna, but it was not as if La Carlotta did not have a massive dressing room of her own; and much lavisher than this one. Plus, they likely would not want to upset the woman their welcome patron had so obviously set his affections on.

The thought made her eyes sting.

Christine was already dressed for bed and mechanically brushing through her curls when Meg finally arrived at her dressing room door, knocking softly. The blonde was also in her bedclothes, a blanket held tightly around her to stay covered and warm on her journey to Christine's room.

"Sorry," Meg whispered as Christine let her in. "I know it is late. Mama would not stop pestering me about my stretches."

Christine actually laughed a little at the roll of Meg's eyes and huff of frustration, thankful for the first genuine smile on her face in days. She found she had missed her best friend dearly, and almost felt the tiniest bubble of excitement for a late night conversation like they used to have all the time in their shared dormitory. But then she remembered what they would be discussing…

Taking a deep breath, Christine took Meg's hand and led her to the chaise lounge, sitting and pulling Meg down next to her. "I have so much to tell you, Meg," she began hesitantly, watching blonde brows rise slightly. "Though I fear it will change your opinion of me…" She pressed her lips together to stop their trembling, avoiding Meg's concerned eyes.

"What? Christine, you know I could never think ill of you."

"Oh, Meg…I do hope that is true."

And then, Christine told Meg _everything,_ barely giving a second thought as it all poured out of her. Omitting nothing, Christine recounted the events of the weekend in hushed tones, prefacing the story with how she had felt- well, _different_ ever since meeting the Phantom face to face, and ending with her lie to Raoul and their decision to take some time apart. Meg—the dear girl—had stayed silent and attentive throughout the divulgence, only reacting every so often with a shocked gasp or disbelieving giggle, or an embarrassed squeak at the intimacy of the conversation.

Still, Meg showed no signs of disgust or judgment toward Christine, and it made her all the more comfortable to share. And it felt so nice to let it all out.

By the end of Christine's story and once Meg got the chance to absorb it all, she looked shocked but genuinely sympathetic. Christine wondered why. It was not as if she deserved even an ounce sympathy. "Is it over with Raoul, then?"

Christine shrugged, her face scrunched slightly in pain. "I am not sure. It _feels_ like it, for me, but…I am unsure if he will give up so easily."

"And that is a bad thing?"

Trying not to flinch at the memory of their rough joining and the secrets Raoul still did not know, Christine nodded quick. "I just do not think we are right for one another anymore. Not after what I did…not after that night. Oh, Meg, is that terrible of me?"

Meg took one of Christine's trembling hands in hers, squeezing gently. "No, it is not," she said firmly. Christine's eyes swam, wondering what she did to deserve such a wonderful friend. "You made mistakes Christine, I will not deny that, but he should have had a little more self control, too. I shudder to think about how much pain you must have been in-" At this, Christine _did_ flinch, and Meg smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"It is alright, Meg. Thank you so much for listening to me; it felt awful holding everything in, not speaking to anyone the past few days..."

Meg nodded in agreement. "I can imagine." She paused, her cheeks going pink, and she looked away from Christine's eyes shyly. "Christine, may I ask- oh dear…"

"Of course, Meg. Anything. What is it?"

"I just- well, the other ballet girls never shut up about the act between a man and woman, but…what was it like, with…with Sorelli?" Meg's eyes met Christine's again, curious and excited, but with the slightest hint of fear as well. The grip on Christine's hand tightened.

Christine swallowed, remembering, her own cheeks heating now. "Ah, it was…very nice. There was no pain at any point, only softness and pleasure. I had never considered women in _that_ way, before. But it was- well, wonderful, really." Meg nodded along to Christine's words, deeply intrigued. "Why? Have...have _you_ thought about it before, Meg?"

Meg's face reddened further, and she looked as if she wanted to bolt from the room. Biting her plump lower lip, she pulled her hand from Christine's, shifting uncomfortably where she sat.

"Oh," Christine said quietly. "Forgive me, Meg. I did not mean to ask something so personal. I only thought since- oh, forget I asked!"

They each were silent for a moment, cheeks on fire, until Meg finally mumbled so quietly that Christine struggled to make out the words: "I _have_ thought about it before."

"Really?" Christine breathed, eyes brightening at the knowledge. "Anyone…specific?"

Meg only nodded, pressing her pink lips together in a nervous line.

"Oh, Meg! Who?" Her whisper was eager, eyes wide. "You know I would not tell a soul. You can trust me, just as I trusted you with my secrets."

Meg hesitated, of course, but Christine only waited patiently, nodding in encouragement. Finally, Meg shakily breathed the name, "Catherine."

"Catherine?" Christine gasped. "The new ballet girl? With the black hair?"

"She is not _new._ She has been here for almost a year now, Christine. Goodness, I do wonder where your head is sometimes." Meg rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Oh, do not change the subject! Have you tried anything? Tell me!"

Meg sighed. "No, of course not. I find it difficult to even have a simple conversation with her. It is like…I do not know. Like my stomach is sick whenever I am around her. And I cannot remember how to speak normally. It is rather pathetic." She laughed a little without humor.

Christine took her hand again. "We have all been there before, Meg. I wish you could have seen my face when I first saw… _him,_ the Phantom…I could only gape at him like an imbecile for well over a full minute."

She laughed, but Meg went quiet, staring at her briefly in fascination. And then, she hesitantly asked, "What _was_ he like, Christine? Was he truly terrifying?"

Startled by the unexpected question, Christine thought hard for a moment. "No, not at all- at first." Her voice was low, distant. "I felt as if I were in a trance when I first laid eyes on him. He was so tall, so well dressed and dark and different…and of course, the mask. He was like something you knew was forbidden but did not care; you knew your curiosity would win anyway." She smiled dreamily, remembering. "And his voice was so beautiful, so powerful. I'd never heard anything like it, the song he sang for me. It made me feel… _he_ made me feel things I cannot even begin to explain."

"So what happened, then? The notes, the chandelier crash…it's so hard to understand it all."

Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "I took off his mask, saw his malformed face. He was so angry, but more _hurt_ than anything, I think. I betrayed his trust, and in turn he frightened me. And then, later when… I, ah, think he saw Raoul and I, on the roof after Buquet…" Her hands began to tremble, until soft, warm fingers brushed them hesitantly, as if to say _I am here. It is all right_. Christine swallowed, continuing. "It is the only thing I can think of that would explain the chandelier falling. Raoul and I kissed on the roof that night, and its now so obvious to me that he had been watching. He must have been so…" she paused, struggling to find the right word.

"Hurt," Meg said, looking on Christine's face with understanding. Christine's brow furrowed at the offered word, however, which had Meg sighing. "Christine, the man obviously has feelings for you. And, no, I am in no way excusing his behavior, but from what you have told me…he must not know how to express himself very well. He is in no way a _normal_ man. Who knows what he has been through in his life with a face such as his."

Deliberating, Christine chewed on her lip.

Meg went on softly. "It is your choice what to do, Christine. You could either move on as if none of this had ever happened, or find him and demand an explanation for his behavior. And maybe…once you both have the answers you seek, maybe both of you can heal from that, in the end."

After a long while of silence, of deliberating, Christine nodded slowly. Meg was right. She needed to find him, to see him as nothing more and nothing less than a damaged man with strong emotions and a past she could not even begin to comprehend, and receive the answers she sought.

But…what if he truly was gone? Left without a second thought for her? The possibility was so strangely painful that Christine's eyes flooded with moisture. "I am afraid, Meg," she breathed thickly. "I…I do not feel him near, anymore. I would not know how to look for him, even if he still _is_ here."

"Well, have you tried speaking with the Persian?"

Christine blinked. "Who?"

Meg groaned. "Christine! You've _never_ heard of the Persian? Dear God, girl…how can you- I mean, the other ballet girls are _always_ talking about how…oh, never mind! He is _always_ lurking around the opera house, never misses a single performance. He knows all its secrets. There are even rumors that he knows the Phantom; is _friends_ with him! You need to ask him, if anyone."

Her words—though making her flush with embarrassment for never having noticed such a well known person at the opera house—filled Christine with hope and excitement, and she inhaled sharply, sitting up straighter and leaning closer to Meg. "Will you point him out to me? Tomorrow? Will he even be around?" she asked quickly.

"Possibly. Yes, the next time he is around, I will fetch you. I promise."

"Oh, Meg!" Christine squealed, launching herself forward to embrace the dear girl. "Thank you, thank you so much! You are the most wonderful friend anyone could _ever_ ask for!"

Meg giggled, returning Christine's hug tightly. "I know, I know," she teased. "I am the best. What would you do without me?"

"I have no idea."

They both laughed, still holding each other close, until the air about them seemed to change, grow quiet, different…thicker. Christine breathed in Meg's familiar, clean scent, running hands along her soft back, only covered by her thin bedclothes. _Oh…_

Meg was the first to pull away slowly, lovely face flushed slightly and pink lips parted, the pale green of her eyes seeming to have darkened. Christine flicked her tongue across her lips, wetting them quickly as she leaned in without making the conscious decision to do so.

She did not even realize she had actually kissed her best friend until she heard the girl's little whimper of surprise. Immediately, Christine drew back, shocked at her own behavior and apologetic, terrified for Meg's reaction. However, she only got a fraction of a second to see the look of surprised delight on the blonde's face before Meg was bringing their lips back together eagerly, tangling her dainty fingers into Christine's curls.

She clutched at the fabric on Meg's back, moaning at the movement of their full lips together. Her lips parted, and Meg took advantage of the opening, tasting Christine with her warm tongue and humming softly. In turn, Christine quickened the pace of their mouths' dance, kissing her with more enthusiasm and running a hand down her waist and then thigh.

With a gasp, Meg broke their kiss, biting her wet lower lip. "Christine," she gasped, trailing a single finger down Christine's neck, making her shiver. "I…would not know what to do."

Her coquettish confession somehow only made her more alluring, and Christine smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face with thumb and forefinger. "You don't have to do anything," Christine assured her quietly. "Or…that is- if you would like, I could…only touch you? I would like to thank you…properly. For all you have done for me tonight."

After a long stretch of silence, Meg nodded slowly, and Christine kissed her mouth again, enthused.

She took her time kissing Meg, the slow, delicate slide of tongues around one another and the squelching of moist lips meeting again and again the only sounds in the darkness for a while. Soft shifts of movement followed- Christine's legs pressing together, Meg scooting closer still until chests met, her fingers brushing Christine's shoulders and arms.

Christine broke away to trail lips down the pale, pillow soft skin of Meg's neck and then shoulder, the sleeve of her nightgown having been pushed aside to allow access. Still, she wanted to see and taste _more,_ and she gently gripped the sides of Meg's nightdress, pulling up only a little to make her intent clear. "May I?" she whispered in between kisses on Meg's collarbone, and she felt the blonde shudder before her.

When Meg's quiet permission came, Christine slowly made to undress her. "Wait," Meg stopped her, soft yet tense hands covering her own. "The light..."

Christine pulled back to look at her, finding her eyes wide with fright. In truth, it baffled Christine that Meg would be embarrassed to be exposed to her now, when she had seen her countless times in the past. Of course...these _were_ vastly different circumstances, and she understood all too well the feeling of insecurity. Though frowning a little, Christine did not argue, blowing out each candle on the nearby end table until only one lone, amber flame perched on the vanity across the room was alight, casting the two of them in complete shadow. Meg relaxed, letting out a shuddering breath of relief, and Christine set to undressing her slowly once again.

She could not see as well as she would have liked, but she could feel, and after guiding her to lie back, Christine mapped Meg's bare body with the softest of caresses, light brushings of lip, little dips of tongue. Meg's back arched when Christine trapped one small nipple into her mouth, gently sucking, and the little surprised yet delighted whimper that escaped Meg's creamy throat caused Christine's busy lips to upturn slightly. She could feel Meg's legs begin to tremble as she dug her fingers into her inner thigh, kneading the soft flesh, and she wondered whether it were anticipation, fear, or pleasure that caused such quaking.

Releasing Meg's breast, she favored her lips again, kissing softly before pulling away to whisper, "Are you all right?"

Meg nodded wordlessly, her fingernails scratching lightly down Christine's nightgown-clad back.

"Would you still like for me to continue?" Christine checked quietly, moving her hand a trifle higher up Meg's thigh to clarify her intent.

"Yes," Meg breathed, her voice filled with need.

"You are so lovely," Christine cooed before kissing her full mouth again with fervor, teasingly taking her hand off Meg's thigh to massage her neglected breast instead. Meg whined a little against Christine's lips, her thighs clenching and squirming, and Christine hummed tunelessly, smug. She understood now why the others had so loved to tease her; for it gave her a sense of power, of being needed, wanted. And she was only all too eager to oblige to such sweet longings.

Meg's skin was warm and smooth as Christine trailed her hand down her torso, which rapidly rose and fell with her quick breaths. Christine broke their heated kiss and dipped her head back to her breast, swirling her tongue and sucking lightly on the erect peak. When her hand finally brushed against Meg's velvety, wet heat, she both felt and heard the sharp gasp it caused, intrigued. Ever gently, she moistened her fingers with Meg's arousal before finding that swollen little nub, very softly running her moistened fingers in circles around it.

The girl clutched Christine's upper arms for dear life, squirming and panting and unable to control the louder moans that escaped her lips. Christine did not relent even for a second, especially not when Meg nearly sobbed in desperate need for release. No, then she quickened her pace, rubbing quicker circles and pressing just the slightest bit harder, sucking more firmly on her nipple, moaning as Meg quivered and keened before her. She could very nearly _feel_ the overwhelming pleasure that Meg felt as it finally found its peak, her body spasming and writhing until she, finally, ultimately relaxed, sinking deeper into the chaise as her breathing calmed.

Meg clutched Christine close to her long after she relaxed, neither of them saying a word for a very long time. Christine softly stroked her hair, content to simply lie in Meg's soft arms and relish their—very _close_ —friendship.

* * *

Christine felt much more relaxed at rehearsal the next day, her evening with Meg having been exactly what she needed, and she felt eager to put the past behind her and move forward. Meg had promised to catch Christine's attention the second she saw the Persian around, and Christine, for once, was not holed-up inside her mind, instead actually consciously aware of what went on around her.

The ballet girls were waiting in the wings for their cue, and Christine could not help but grin when she spotted Meg talking with Catherine. The raven-haired female was tall and graceful, with olive toned skin and dark eyes that were intimidatingly beautiful. Christine could see the appeal, and her heart warmed when she saw Catherine laugh heartily at something Meg had said. The blonde girl looked confident and victorious, which made an almost hysterically happy giggle burst through Christine's lips.

Luckily no one had been close enough to hear her and think her insane.

After Christine's scenes were through and they had moved on to working one of Carlotta's big moments, she found a nice spot at the corner of the stage and sat, watching everything and everyone like a hawk. It was strange; especially since she was so used to being wrapped up in her own world all the time, but it was also very interesting seeing the people she was around nearly _every day_ and actually studying them. Seeing who concentrated on their work the most, who chatted the most, who flirted the most, who complained the most—well, save for Carlotta, of course.

It was nearing the end of rehearsal when she heard the sharp whisper. " _Christine_ ," Meg hissed, and Christine's head immediately snapped to across the stage where she stood. Meg bobbed her head sharply to the right once, and Christine scrambled to her feet, frantically searching in the spot Meg had gestured to.

Her eyes swept with urgency until, finally, she saw him.

Very nearly hiding in the wings, he was casually leaning against a scenery change flat, seemingly content to just watch the frenetic rehearsal in front of him. She quietly walked closer to him, trying not to draw attention just yet, her mouth going dry as she got a better look. He was of average height, with strong, sturdy legs and broad shoulders and hands, one of which held his hat. Well-tailored but average class clothing hung from deep brown skin, a neatly trimmed beard adorning a very kind, _very_ handsome face. His hair was thick and dark with little flecks of silver-grey throughout, much like his beard, and full, black lashes framed eyes of brilliant jade that, again, just seemed so kind.

He was likely the most beautiful man she had ever seen. How in the world had she not noticed him before? Perhaps she _did_ recall the ballet girls squealing over the handsomeness of a foreigner…

Having been so deeply absorbed in studying the man, Christine accidentally collided with one of the younger tenors, apologizing profusely before turning her attention back to the Persian. He had turned his attention to her as well, likely having heard her collision, and his face paled slightly with recognition. Chewing on her lip, she approached him, trying not to let his nervous expression deter her. He _obviously_ knew who she was, or else he would not be watching her approach him as if she were an actual ghost.

"H-hello," she murmured when she was just a couple feet away from him, clearing her throat quietly. For it was still dry.

He nodded in greeting, his voice deep and rough as he also said, "Hello."

"I am Christine Daaé."

"I…I know. I mean-that is… Ah, pleased to meet you, Miss Daaé," he struggled, offering his hand after a long moment of hesitation. She took it, and his large palm was warm and rough in hers. "I am Nadir Khan." He offered a kind, polite smile, though she still sensed his discomfort.

"Pleased to meet you as well, Monsieur Khan." She deliberated, but ultimately decided honesty and getting right to the point was best. Why waste time with pleasantries and small talk? She straightened her posture, taking a breath before holding her head high. "You obviously know exactly who I am, and I think it is time we discussed a mutual _friend_ of ours."


End file.
